Blue Fire 5
Blue Fire 5 is an encounter in Kingdom Aflame. Enemies * Royalist Militia Soldier (Blue Fire 5) (180 Gold, 180 XP, 180 Energy, 3 HP) * Royalist Militia Archer (Blue Fire 5) (180 Gold, 180 XP, 180 Energy, 3 HP) Transcript Introduction "Milady!" "Hortensia!" Mayor Tarringan awoke with a start. It took her an instant to realize where she was -- in her office chair, slumped over her desk. She sat up and blinked at the intruders through unfocussed eyes. "Taerwyn? Varnbrook? What... I..." "We're under attack!" They blurted the words out in near perfect harmony. Hortensia's chair crashed on the floor behind her. "Are they inside the city?" "No!" the gnome said. "We have to close the gates. Give the order! Now!" "Our people are still out there!" Taerwyn said. "We have to-" Hortensia rounded her desk, pushed past him, and ran down the stairs -- almost falling headlong before she seized the bannister and saved herself. A band of guardsmen stood outside the building. Their uniforms were disheveled, donned by hasty hands, their faces pale as snow. "Mayor-" the sergeant said. "The wall. Show me," she said. The sergeant ran. She jogged after him, across the plaza, up the stairs to the southern rampart -- her knees aching with each hard, fast stomp. Voices shouted from every direction, their words incomprehensible but raw panic unmistakable. "There!" the sergeant said. He stood at the crenellations and pointed, as though she could somehow have missed it. It wasn't a mere raid. It was battle, chaos, carnage. War. "Tell him to seal the gates!" Varnbrook said. Hortensia shook her head. Out among the farms and fields, droves of citizens and routed militia poured towards Ralmarthan, whooping enemies close behind. "If we close the gates, they die, magistrate." "If you don't, we all die!" "Arm everyone who knows how to wield a weapon. We'll fight them street by street. It's the only way." "But-" "Do it!" *** "That's courage," Chumgrak said. "Courage?" Yaealina said. "They're fleeing!" "Not the ones out here. The ones in there." He nodded at the distant city. "They're keeping their gates open. They've chosen to save their people." The four friends advanced in silence, in the wake of a jostling horde. "What happens when we're inside?" Nevis asked. "Urban warfare," the orc said. "Never a pleasant affair. If we're fortunate, Mayor Tarringan will surrender when she sees that matters are hopeless. Otherwise..." *** Aya of the Kamamura Clan had fought in hell, joined battles that were literal pandemonium. And at that moment she almost imagined she was back in the infernal realm. Unruly tides of men and women crashed together and flowed towards Ralmarthan. Mass tangles that would have broken against the city's walls had the gates been locked against them -- at least until magic or siege weapons forced an entrance. If %name% succeeded in this enterprise, it would only be because of raw courage and the enemy's compassion. This displeased her. But there was nothing to be done, other than what she did best. So she bit back her disquiet and hurled a shuriken. A warrior in a purple tabard, colored by cheap dye and inexpert hands, clutched his throat, spluttered, and died. She leapt into what was left of the fray outside the walls. Small straggles of militia and their allies still fought, buying farmers and those less bold the time they needed to reach Ralmarthan. Aya ran a woman through. Death was quick, as she deserved. The next two perished before they knew the ninja was there. If there were just gods, she hoped their valor would be recognized. But that was beyond her ken. All she could do was deliver them into the hands of whatever divine judges waited. An arrow whistled past her face. She snatched it from the air, saving a young rebel girl who staggered backwards -- wounded by shock as surely if less permanently than she would have been by the projectile. The ninja tossed it back at the bowman. It scratched his cheek, spoiled his next shot, and allowed her to reach him before he could fire again. Another thrust. Another swift death. Mages were already flinging spells at the city's ramparts, exchanging fire and frost with Ralmarthan's defenders. One rebel spellcaster drew too close, made confident by his mastery of magic, and fell with three humbler missiles in his chest. Aya's eyes narrowed. Tessa Tullian would never have allowed such a slovenly assault. A shape moved in the corner of her vision. She threw a shuriken without looking, and the Stonebound warrior took it in the forehead. His eyes were crossed, trying to focus on the steel star, when her blade ended the endeavor. Her comrades weren't even making sure of the enemies behind them before they hurled themselves at the city. Where was %name% Kasan, and why was %he% allowing this? The Kamamura ninja glanced up at the wall. Her gaze fell upon a woman's face between the crenellations, and a cold smile parted the lips beneath her mask. She'd assassinated enough aristocrats to recognize a noblewoman when she saw one. Hortensia Tarringan. Her death might help bring this folly to an end. Aya made for the wall. Conclusion Arrows fly down from the walls. Some quiver in shields or rebound off arcane barriers. Others find flesh, and rebels go down amidst the charge. The scents of burnt ozone, roasted flesh, and indescribable sorceries mingle with the simple smell of death. They don't perturb you. By now they're familiar horrors, old friends. Roderick never stormed a city. Tonight the bards won't be singing about corpses on altars. You charge at the forefront of your host, into the open gateway and a press of bodies. Ralmarthan's fighters are trying to hold the entrance -- but it's a fool's errand. Even the bravest warriors can't stop a force many times deeper. And their battle line is ragged, ridden with gaps to let through routed militiamen and frightened peasants. It's impossible to miss in this packed melee. Each of your thrusts pierces a body. And theirs would pierce yours, if protective magics and a good shield didn't safeguard it. Theadric makes do without these things. Bold and brazen, he fights without shield or spells. And his sword reaps the lives of anyone who comes for his. The man must be blessed by the gods. You're trampling the dead now, stomping on carcasses as the defenders fall back. Your sword still carries out its grim work. Enchanted steel slips in and out of mundane armor and bone, a hot knife through butter. Screams and groans merge together into a single cacophony of defeat. Battle cries from the advancing rebels drown them out. Ralmarthan falls this day, and it falls to %name% Kasan. *** "The secret passage," Taerwyn said. "You can escape." A fireball exploded further along the ramparts, its dying roar ending in a cacophonous boom. The wave of heat washed over them all. "No," the mayor said. "I won't leave Ralmarthan." "Nor will I," the magistrate said. "My men are holding the streets around the square, and-" Taerwyn's gasp made the mayor and magistrate turn to the battlements, face to face with the masked woman who climbed between the crenellations and crouched there like a gargoyle. A guardsman charged, spear lowered to skewer her. The assassin's hand darted out. He spun around with a metal spike lodged in his throat. Another warrior lunged at her, swinging his sword. Steel clanged on steel, then punctured his breast. The woman had another throwing weapon in her hand before he fell. Her eyes met the mayor's, and Hortensia knew she was doomed. Magistrate Varnbrook roared and leapt. The little gnome, in his oversized doublet and absurd hat, flew through the air and collided with the assassin. She let out a muffled cry and tried to keep her perch. But Varnbrook's fingers clawed at her eyes, his knees and boots struck and scrambled. The two of them toppled backwards -- still grappling, gouging, striking. Hortensia dashed towards them. Her hands groped for the gnome, but closed on empty air. She staggered against the stone and gazed down. Two broken bodies lay on the ground below. Category:Kingdom Aflame